


Artistic Endeavour

by Moiself



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Roommates, artist!Punk, artstudent!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7057123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiself/pseuds/Moiself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roommates, misunderstandings & art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistic Endeavour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamentomori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/gifts).



> A birthday offering for lamentomori!

“Dean! Phone!”

There was no reply. Phil tried again.

“DEAN! PHONE! ROMAN’S CALLING YOU!”

This time he got an answer, yelled back from the direction of Dean's bedroom.

“CAN YOU ANSWER IT PLEASE!? I’M KINDA BUSY!”

Phil shrugged and set down his drawing tablet, muttering to himself as he pushed his chair away from his desk, propelling himself towards the coffee table where Dean's phone was dancing with the vibrations of the incoming call.

“I _can_ answer the damn thing and yes, I _will_ …”

The phone went silent as he reached it, the sound switching to his own, buzzing impatiently from his pocket. He fished it out, frowning at the screen when he saw Roman had decided to call him instead.

He still wasn't sure why his roommate’s boyfriend had his number in the first place, but he did and here he was using for what was possibly only the second or third time. Must be something important then.

“Roman. What's up? You looking for Dean?”

“Sorry to disturb you Phil. Is he about? He wasn't answering his phone and it's kinda urgent…”

Roman didn't sound panicked so much as...flustered?

“Hang on big guy, I'll take the phone through to him.”

Phil made his way through the apartment to Dean's room, taking the slightly open door as an indication that he could walk on in.

“Dean, he says it’s imp…”

The sight in front of Phil stole the words out of his mouth, leaving him standing in the doorway, jaw slack, phone in his outstretched hand.

Dean was stood in the middle of the room, pants round his ankles, his bare ass right in Phil’s line of sight. He turned to take the phone and the room suddenly got a thousand degrees warmer.

Phil had obviously interrupted a little ‘private time’ because it looked for all the world as if Dean was busy fucking one of those fleshjack things.

Dean's cheeks coloured as he followed Phil's eyeline.

He reached for the phone which Phil surrendered happily before retreating to the sanctity of the living room, grimacing as he caught a few words of the conversation before Dean closed the door.

“...no Ro...that's what the cock ring was for…”

Glancing towards his desk, Phil realised that he was in no mood to get back to the piece he was working on. He still had a few days before the deadline so he could afford to spend a moment having a little mope over a cup of coffee.

A few minutes later he was planted on the couch with a mug sitting in front of him on the table, forgotten already as his thoughts drifted.

In the six months since his old roommate Brock had moved out to go live with his boyfriend, Phil had grown more than fond of the boyfriend Seth’s old roommate Dean who had taken on Brock’s old room in what was a very simple way to solve both their housing issues.

His initial fears that the new guy might be as much of an airhead as Brock’s beau were unfounded. Dean was still a student, in his final year of the arts course Phil himself had graduated from two years prior, not that this was the only thing they had in common.

They had bonded over a shared love of comic books, of watching old wrestling and of arguing.

They could argue for hours, though heaven help anyone who tried to intervene.

_“Wanna butt out there pal?”_

_“Yeah, can't you see we’re having a private discussion here?”_

It was during one of those spirited discussions that Phil first realised that he might have a tiny problem with having the younger man as a roommate.

They'd been having a heated debate about whether or not Miss Elizabeth was a valet or a manager of all things, and he’d gone to the refrigerator to grab a cold soda for them both. He hadn't realised that Dean had followed him until he closed the door and turned back, finding himself nose to nose with the other man.

For the single longest second of his life, there was a moment of utter silence. Blue eyes stared back at hazel, flicking down to Phil's mouth, an action mirrored by his own, the urge to cross the tiny gap and press his lips to Dean's almost overwhelming.

Until the loud ringing of Dean's phone pierced the silence and shattered the moment.

“Ro! No. Nothing important...how's tricks?”

Roman.

Phil had nothing against the guy. Not really. It wasn't fair to hate on him just because he'd had the good fortune to snatch Dean up and make him his, and really, they were so much better about keeping the PDAs to a minimum than Brock and Seth had been. In fact, Phil had never walked in on them so much as holding hands in the communal areas of the apartment, but still he couldn't quite tamp down the wave of jealousy when the man made his presence known.

Phil checked his pockets for his phone before remembering that Dean was currently using it.

Great. He couldn't even text Scott to wail about walking in on his inappropriate crush while he was knocking one out.

He took a gulp of his coffee and slumped down in his seat feeling extremely sorry for himself.

It was another hour before Dean finally emerged from his room, almost tiptoeing into the room and sitting down quietly at the other end of the couch.

“Here's your phone...thanks.”

“Don't mention it.”

“I should probably explain…”

Phil looked up at his roommate, his flushed cheeks making him look adorable. Bastard. Why couldn't the fucker be hideous with a personality to match? That would make Phil's life so much easier.

“What's to explain? You were jerking off, your ignoramus of a roommate walked in on you. It's me who should apologise.”

“What? I wasn't jerking off. Is that what you think I was doing?”

“If you weren't jerking off what was the fleshjack for?”

“Fleshjack? You mean the tube thing? That wasn’t a fleshjack...it was...it was a dildo mould.”

Phil didn't know if that was better or worse.

“A dildo mould. What the fuck?”

“Yes Phil. A dildo mould. I was taking a mould of my cock so I can cast it in silicone and make a dildo. So was Roman, but he was having trouble staying hard long enough for the gel to set…”

“I don't know if that's the most romantic idea I've heard of or the most horrific.”

“Romantic? Why the fuck would it be _romantic_?”

“Swapping fake dicks with your boyfriend.”

“BOYFRIEND!? You think Ro...and me…”

Dean looked at Phil incredulously.

“He's not my boyfriend. I don't have a boyfriend.”

“Then why are you making him a dildo?”

“I'm not making him a dildo, asshole. It's for my sculpture class final project. Must be a non-clay medium, so you know...I figured...silicone dildo sculpture.”

“Obviously.”

“I _knew_ you'd get it...Ro says I should have asked you to contribute…”

“Why didn't you?”

Dean took a deep breath, scrubbing his hands across his face.

“I thought it would be weird to ask my fucking gorgeous roommate who I have a massive crush on if I could make a mould of his cock.”

Phil beamed at Dean.

“You're _sure_ you’re not dating Roman?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Come on then…”

Phil stood, dragging Dean to his feet behind him. He pulled him close and allowed himself to do the thing he'd been resisting for so long.

His arms snaked around Dean's waist as their lips met, the kiss sweet and brief. They stayed wrapped around Dean once the kiss broke, the younger man idly tracing Phil’s tattoos with his fingertips. He smiled at the older man, dimples appearing on cheeks.

“So what now?”

Phil smiled back.

“Well, you could take that mould you wanted…”

He smirked at the man he held in his arms at last.

“...I’m no expert, but I'm pretty sure I need to be hard for that...wanna help?”

Phil peeled away, heading for his bedroom, Dean hot on his heels, a wicked grin on both their faces.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based (loosely) on this prompt by authorkurikuri on tumblr:
> 
> this sculpting class is the bane of my existence and for the final project (where i’m supposed to use a non-clay medium) i’m going to troll my teacher and make a bunch of silicone dildos. will you donate your dick to my cause?


End file.
